Draco quite wished he was back at the Manor, studying his alchemy scrolls. Instead, he was subjected to the August heat, still clinging to the breeze—albeit feebly—but making him pull at the collar of his black dress robes nonetheless. He found a seat near the back, away from anyone he may have known in a past life.
The news of the wedding of Greory Goyle and Millicent Bulstrode came as a shock to Draco. While the pair had run in the same circles during their time at Hogwarts, there was no sign of it then. Although, Draco suspected, perhaps they had reconnected sometime later. He was by no means the same man who had left school grounds, but he didn't particularly like to think of the type of man he was. War did that to people.
He kept his face forward, taking in his surroundings. The wedding took place at some venue off Hogsmeade and was decorated rather lavishly in dark green and gold fabrics, with rich mahogany accents that were charmed to look as though starlight was gleaming off its surface. White floral arrangements were placed throughout the venue, glittering. Against Draco's better judgement, he had to admit it looked rather tasteful—even for Goyle. Or Millicent for that matter. He didn't remember either of them that way, but he was sure he wouldn't look fondly at the way he himself would be remembered, either.
As if on cue, Pansy Parkinson appeared, dressed in her signature shade of pink, and Draco had to suppress a smirk, grateful for the familiarity. Sometimes, it was okay for things to stay the same. Though it had been a while since they had last seen each other—three years, in fact—Pansy looked just as she had in school. She caught sight of Draco, motioned behind her to someone Draco couldn't see, and then beelined for him. Though Draco was hoping to get out of this social gathering without causing too much of a scene, he was glad for the company.
"I can't believe it!" Pansy exclaimed. "It's been ages!"
Draco stood in greeting, accepted Pansy's thin arms around his neck, while she kissed his cheeks.
"Indeed," Draco said diplomatically, pulling away and turning to Pany's companion. Theodore Nott stood with a sheepish grin, hands in his pockets, looking particularly unkempt for a wedding. He shrugged hello to Draco.
"Draco, darling, I can't believe you left your Manor for this," Pansy stated, while they all took their seats. "Seems like you don't ever leave home these days." She started inspecting her nails.
Draco was expecting to hear this over and over today, which was part of what was making him dread the event so much leading up to it, but it was Goyle's wedding, and although they hadn't kept in touch much throughout the years, they had fought a war together.
"Remember, Pansy, Draco goes where there is free firewhiskey," Theodore deadpanned.
In response, Draco smirked and raised his eyebrows at his former Slytherin roommate.
"That's right," he said simply.
"Well, we've got to get through this," Pansy gestured around them, "first. Ugh, I can't believe Millicent is getting married before I do!" At this, she glared pointedly at Theodore, who only smiled and patted her hand reassuringly.
Music swelled. In the corner, Draco caught sight of string quartet instruments playing seamlessly on their own. Goyle appeared from a dooway in the far, right corner of the room. He looked taller to Draco, slightly less burly, dressed in dark green dress robes. As he made his way to the alter, Goyle's eyes fell on Draco's and he seemed to hesitate for a moment. Draco thought he knew why. Vincent Crabbe would not be here, because he was dead, and the last time Draco and Goyle saw each other was the night Crabbe died. Draco stiffened in his seat slightly and broke eye contact by pretending to lean over in Pansy and Theodore's direction.
The wizened wizard that was officiating the wedding was very small, but with another swell of instruments he made a motion for all the guests to rise that surprisingly was not lost on anyone. Draco and the others leapt to their feet, turning their gaze toward the back of the room, awaiting Millicent's entrance. She, too, took him by surprise, looking pretty in robes of ivory with gold decals, her shoulders smaller and her footsteps graceful. Draco couldn't believe it. He distinctly remembered her once having Hermione Granger in a headlock during dueling lessons.
Blimey, he felt old. Was that a consequence of war as well? The lapse of time in only two categories labeled Before and After. Before, Draco would imagine weddings and other parties as something to be cherished, fun, a place to let your hair down, if you will. Now, it only served as a reminder of what was lost, of who was lost, and a lack of innocence. Draco blanched, knowingly full well his innocence was what bothered him the most. Sure, his family avoided any sort of prison sentence. But socially? He did better keeping to himself and studying his alchemy scrolls.
Upon watching these two former friends of his marry, Draco was struck by how lonely he was. He cast a look toward Pansy and Theordore, the latter rubbing small circles on the former's hand with his thumb. For some reason, Draco couldn't image it for himself. All he saw was sweaty hands and sore wrists. He supposed that if he had played his cards right, Pansy and Draco would have eventually become more than just friends with benefits, perhaps if things had been different. But, alas, Draco grew up—yet another consequence of war.
"Right. Now that that's over," Pansy declared, grabbing three firewhiskeys from the bar, "we drink!"
Draco took his gratefully, downing the first quarter of it swiftly. Pansy seemed to notice this and mouthed to him, "Pace yourself."
Draco smirked. "Pansy, how long has it been? You don't know my tolerance these days."
"The point is we're celebrating, Draco," she stated, shoving her bag into Theordore's arms, who accepted it with a grunt. "Act like it."
"As opposed to what exactly?" Draco countered, raising a brow. He kept his tone light, but he was goading her, daring her to call him out.
Pansy groaned. "Theo," she called. "Dance with me."
"With pleasure," Theodore said, shoving Pany's bag into Draco's arms.
For a moment, Draco watched the pair of them. They seemed well matched, balancing each other out. Pansy's colorful, sometimes cruel mannerisms and Theodore's quiet knowledge and understanding. While it was nice to reacquaint themselves with each other—in fact, it didn't feel like any time had passed between Draco and Pansy—Theodore was much more subdued, though Draco suspected that was because he was still trying to find his place within the group, no longer the one on the outside. Draco was now, but after the war, that seemed the only place he belonged. After grabbing another firewhiskey from the bar, Draco headed for the door, in search of some air.
The village of Hogsmeade was beautiful at night in the summer. The night had cooled off slightly, and while there was moisture in the air it held the promising of waiting until the morning. Draco swigged his firewhiskey, wishing once again that he was at home with his alchemy scrolls.
"Malfoy?"
Draco would not have been able to place the voice of his caller. Not without seeing her. Mostly because the last time he had really crossed paths with her was when he was on the receiving end of one of her Bat Bogey Hexes, and she had definitely sounded different then.
"Weasley," he drawled resignedly. Bullocks, he thought, just what he needed. The youngest Weasley was dressed in casual muggle clothing, Draco noticed, but even then he couldn't fault her. He supposed a career in Quidditch afforded one the grace to pull off practically any apparel.
"What are you so dressed up for?" she asked badly, forcing conversation when one was clearly not wanted.
"Goyle's wedding," Draco said, taking another swig of his firewhiskey and motioning behind him with his thumb. He suddenly remembered that Theordore had handed him Pansy's bag, and he flushed awkwardly, though the littlest Weasley did not notice his embarrassment.
She did scrunch her nose, though. "Goyle?" she said, impressed.
Draco shrugged, still stupidly aware of Pansy's awful bag. "To Millicent Bulstrode," he finally supplied.
Weasley nodded. "That makes sense," she said. In the dim light outside, Draco caught her smile, but didn't respond. He turned back slightly toward the entrance to the wedding venue, catching a glimpse of Pansy and Theordore twirling to some Weird Sisters song, then quickly turned back when he realized that the youngest Weasley was moving closer toward him. He cursed inwardly.
"Can I help you?"
"It's my birthday."
They had both spoken at the same time, over each other.
"Er—happy birthday," Draco finally said rather lamely.
"Sorry, I've had a lot of butterbeer and not the best day. Why aren't you celebrating?" She reached for the firewhiskey in Draco's hand and took a swig of it herself, nodding toward the dancing inside.
Draco's mouth twitched, his fingers itching for his drink, which she had handed back with a smirk.
"I'm not one for dancing," he said.
"Oh, but dancing is the best," said Weasley, and to his absolute horror, she started swaying her hips and raising her arms.
"Weasley," said Draco pointedly, knowing full well that she was sloshed. "Is there somewhere you need to be?"
"Nope." Weasley stopped her movements and smiled toothlessly, her eyes glinting. She reached for his firewhiskey again, which he didn't fight over.
"Do I need to send Potter for you?"
At this she groaned. "No!" she exclaimed dramatically. "Not him, and not any of my brothers, either. I'm fine right here."
Draco smirked.
"Trouble in paradise?" He took back his firewhiskey and brought the glass to his lips to hide his smile.
"Trouble with a capital T," Weasley responded, which greatly amused Draco.
"Exactly how much have you had to drink tonight, Weasley?"
"Enough," she said cryptically, reaching once again for his firewhiskey. Draco pulled it away, taking the last swig for himself, while he watched the littlest Weasley pout. He saw her sway slightly, and moved his arm out in case to catch her.
She was quite small in stature, though shapely. She barely came up to his chin, but her professional Quidditch career also meant she was lean and muscular. In her drunken state, Draco thought her quite becoming. There was a spark in her eye that he couldn't tear his gaze away from.
Suddenly, she moved even closer, placing her head on his chest and sighing. Draco was quite unprepared for the contact.
"I thought everything was going to change after the war," she breathed.
Draco stood in complete shock, one arm extended and holding his empty firewhiskey glass, the other still grasped aroundPansy's bag down at his side. It had been a long time since anyone was this close to him. He could just make out a flowery scent coming off her.
"Why don't we get you home?" said Draco. It occurred to him that he didn't know where she lived and he wasn't sure if she would supply that information to him in her drunken state. He looked again at the entrance to the venue, knowing he'd need to hand off Pansy's bag as well. "Er—wait here." Awkwardly, he prided off the youngest Weasley off his person and headed back inside. He found Pansy and Theordore at the bar, waiting for drinks.
"Draco, where have you been, darling?" called Pansy, messing with her earing.
"I've got to go," he replied, handing her back her bag.
Theodore raised his brows. "Party's just starting, mate."
In response, Draco pointed toward the door, where the youngest Weasley was now loudly hiccupping.
Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Oh, gross," she said. "Well, enjoy your sainthood, Draco. You always were better than the rest of us" she smirked, before taking a sip of her drink and pulling Theodore toward the door.
Draco faltered at Pansy's words slightly but showed no reproach. Instead, he placed his empty glass on the bar and left swiftly.
"Weasley," he called once back outside. She had found a bench to sit and was starng at her feet. At the sound of her name, she rose and clumsily made her way toward him.
"I can't believe I ran into you, Malfoy," she said, laughing.
"Not for much longer," said Draco, putting an arm around her. He tried not to notice the way she snuggled into his embrace. Caught off guard, it took a moment for him to ask his next question. "Can you tell me where you live?"
Weasley just laughed some more.
Draco sighed. Why was he doing this again?
"Weasley, I need to know where you live so you can get home."
She shook her head against his side. "I don't want to go home," she muffled. "That's where Harry is."
Although intrigued, Draco was frustrated. Now what was he supposed to do? He wanted nothing more than to go home and resume the studying of his alchemy scrolls.
"Fine, Weasley," he said tightly. "Have it your way." And, making sure she was secured at his side once more, he spun on the spot and Disapparated.
Once they had arrived at Malfoy Manor, Weasley convulsed, pushing against Draco's left arm. His reflexes caused him to twitch slightly, but once he realized that the littlest Weasley was trying to break free, he relaxed his grip. She retched. Bloody brilliant, he thought. At least she did have the grace to look a little embarrassed, the back of her hand covering her mouth in an apologetic way. Rolling his eyes, Draco cleared his throat. He did so as an indication, to hurry this along. He was tired and resigned and kept thinking of his scrolls. Without asking permission, he scooped up the littlest Weasley, feeling awkward but no longer caring. When she didn't protest, he adjusted her body slightly, allowing her head to rest against his left shoulder and her feet to dangle down his right arm. She was quite heavier than he was anticipating despite to her size, but Draco was only trying to make work of getting her inside.
He took her to his bedroom, which was on the third floor. Draco didn't particularly care where she slept, but he intended on studying his alchemy scrolls, and this was where he had left them. By the time he had brought her to his bed, Weasley had dozed off. He deposited her gently on his green satin sheets, noticing even in the darkness the contrast between them and her milky white skin. He searched for her wand, pausing only slightly when he realized that he'd have to lift her jumper. He rubbed at his face with a sigh. It had been a long time since he'd been this close to a woman, close enough to feel her warmth. Once successful at securing her wand, he placed it on the bedside table, and then procured his own. With a flourish, he loosened her shoelaces and placed her shoes at the end of his bed. He didn't fully understand why he was taking it upon himself to rescue the littlest Weasley out of her own mess, but he was doing it nonetheless. She did say it was her birthday, after all, though Draco wasn't one for birthdays. Or dancing, he remembered telling Weasley earlier that night. He wasn't one for much these days, except for his alchemy scrolls, which he usually sat and read into the wee hours of the morning, sleep evading him for most nights ever since the war. He looked back at Weasley longingly, cozy in sheets and blankets, her chest rising and falling evenly. Perhaps, she was onto something, he thought. Nevertheless, Draco tried to pay no mind. He sat at his desk, cracked his knuckles, and pulled out his latest alchemy scroll, picking up right where he had left off.
